


Hi, Mr.Grumpy-man!

by chronosaurus (kimnamjin)



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Child!Felix, Crossing gaurd au, Felix is in elementary school he is so smoll, Other, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, chan is his doting older bro, minho aka Nemo-hyung, minho is a grouchy pants, thats from the fic lol you’ll have to read to find out ;), thats literally not a thing but here we are, who also makes minho question his life decisions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-27 22:36:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20956034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimnamjin/pseuds/chronosaurus
Summary: Lee Minho is a crossing guard at the local elementary school, and saying he isn’t a “kid person” would be an understatement in the highest degree. However, that all seems to change after a small boy in a hat with kitty ears and a smattering of freckles across his nose toddles up to Minho and oh-so flatteringly calls him “Mr. Grumpy-man”.Thank god for hot older brothers—that’s what Minho always says.





	Hi, Mr.Grumpy-man!

It’s a beautiful day in mid-spring, the unfiltered sun casting such a bright screen of light over everything that the very blades of grass seemed to glow with a brilliant green hue. It’s a beautiful day in mid-spring that Minho _should_ be enjoying, yet unsurprisingly isn’t—thanks to his job.

Or _“Hell on earth”_, as Minho likes to refer to it.

“Alright you can go, hurry up.” Minho barked gruffly at a small pack of children swarming around his legs like a school of fluorescent fish, watching with a barely perceptible scowl while adjusting his ridiculously ugly neon yellow vest. 

The squad of 2nd graders happily skipped across the street while Minho held his stop sign out to the cars opposite them, the kids seemingly oblivious to Minho’s tone. They’re _always_ oblivious to his tone, and the hardly restrained look of palpable disgust he throws their hyperactive way. For the sake of his job, it’s _probably_ for the best it stayed that way. 

Lee Minho is an elementary school crossing guard, and he would be lying he said he didn’t utterly despise every second of it. In the winter he has to _freeze_ his ass off, in the spring he has to _roast_ his ass off, and all year round he has to deal with the little brats he has the “_privilege_” of ushering across the street.

It’s not that Minho _hates_ kids, not at all! He just happens to have a low annoyance tolerance, that’s it! And he—more often than not—gets a _little_ tired of hearing the kids’ shrill voices shrieking in delight and laughing maniacally when school ends after a while. But in Minho’s case, a “_while_” is actually just a few measly minutes. 

In all honesty, the only reason Minho kept the job is because he lives five minutes from the school, and it does pay surprisingly well for only about an hour’s worth of standing around; so he just bites the bullet and deals with it. He begrudgingly deals with the overactive 2nd graders and their cartoon-character book bags that smack against his calves at the crosswalk and the 4th graders that pull on the straps of his unfathomably hideous high-visibility vest like they expect candy to pour from his mouth instead of annoyed grumbles. 

But in spite of how desperately he wants to rip those brats a new asshole, Minho just grits his teeth and forcefully transports his mind somewhere far, _far away _from the aroma of stale rice krispy treats and half-dried fruit scented markers that eternally penetrates the air. 

In fact, Minho was in the middle of daydreaming about being at the beach when a tiny voice roused him out of his all-encompassing thoughts of cool waves and refreshing ocean breezes. Whipping around in shock to see, well, _no one_, his gaze then automatically shot down to pinpoint the source of the voice. 

“Hi, Mr. Grumpy-man!” a little boy standing behind Minho cried, a smile so cheerful and blinding it could rival the brightness of the sun stretching his lips. 

Most of the kids and parents have stampede off the school grounds, so he was now the only snot-nosed bra—_kid_ standing with Minho. The little guy couldn’t be in higher than 3rd grade, with ruffled brown hair and tanned skin. Even at his meager height—he only comes up to Minho’s knees—he could still see a splatter of delicate freckles dotting the bridge of the boy’s nose and across his chubby cheeks. His pudgy hands are holding onto the straps of his bright yellow pikachu backpack as he eagerly rocked on the balls of his feet in anticipation. 

His eyes have become nothing more than glittering crescents, as he stared up at Minho with tangible expectation. There’s a pastel pink baseball cap snugly fit on his pint-sized head, with two triangular mock-kitty ears standing tall and proud on the crown of the feline-themed accessory. 

It was only after the brief inspection of the boy that Minho processed what he had just said to him. Or more appropriately, what he just _called_ him. 

_Did that little brat just call me ‘Mr. Grump-man’?! Who does he think he is?!_ Minho thought incredulously to himself, his jaw threatening to careen through the cracked pavement in sheer incredulity. He prepared himself to rip into the little twerp, gritting his teeth and tightening his already white-knuckle grip on his shiny red stop sign. 

Minho is not grumpy whatsoever! Maybe a little _irritable_, sometimes, but _never_ would he describe himself as grumpy. 

_This kid sure does have some nerve, _Minho thought to himself again as he continued to bore fiery holes into the boy’s wide, curious, and oh-so innocent eyes. Except Minho then remembered he’s at an elementary school, and yelling at a child _probably_ wasn’t the best idea—whether the kid is a rude little shit or not.

So he just chose to gripe out an only slightly offended “Excuse me?” to the child instead, mentally patting himself on the back for not punting the twerp across the street like a pint-sized humanoid football. 

The kid just continued to look up at him, eyes large and mouth hanging open in what Minho could only describe as pure inquisitiveness—completely unfazed by Minho’s affronted tone. “Don’t you see the name tag, kid? It’s Minho.” He groused, pointing an accusatory finger at the silver name-plate pinned to his yellow high-visibility vest.

“Nemo? That’s my favorite movie! I love—” The kid exclaimed, virtually vibrating in place with elation.

“No, _Minho_. _Min-ho_.” He felt his patience begin to wane as he sounded out each syllable of his name to the clueless kid at his feet. Minho’s eye twitched for what must have been the 100th time in the past 2 minutes. 

The kid just continued to look up at him with starry eyes, his plump lips parted as he scanned Minho’s gruff expression—seemingly obvious to the palpable exasperation rolling off the crossing guard in hurricane-force waves. 

Minho could virtually _see_ the gears turning in the kids head, beneath his kitty-eared cap and his mop of milky brown hair. He braced himself for the worst. 

“Why is your hair that color? Did someone drop blueberry ice cream on your head? Is your head ok?” the kid asked again with a cock of his own little head, completely out of nowhere. Minho shouldn’t have been so surprised that the twerp completely glossed over the correct pronunciation of his name—he probably still thinks Minho is named after a certain animated clown fish. 

The innocence shining in the kid’s eyes almost made Minho’s irritated frown twitch up to a smile, however; _almost_.

In fact, the only thing that twitched was Minho’s eye once again, white-hot resentment bubbling up through him like a volcano. _Now he’s insulting my hair?! Whoever raised this kid sure as hell didn’t teach him any manners! _Minho angrily thought to himself once again, his non-stop sign gripping hand involuntarily reaching up to his newly dyed sapphire-colored hair. 

Minho reopened his mouth before sighing in defeat, realizing that it’s ridiculous to argue with a child; his broad shoulders slumping before dully murmuring “That’s just the color of my hair kid, deal with it.” 

His simple answer seemed to please the boy well enough, who just nodded sagely at Minho’s response. The kid _is_ pretty cute, Minho couldn’t deny it—but he’d be a lot cuter if he stopped insulting Minho whenever he opened his mouth.

But before the small boy could open said mouth again—undoubtedly to slap another unflattering moniker on an unsuspecting Minho—a new voice suddenly appeared, along with a pair of large hands clasping the boy’s petite shoulders. 

“There you are Felix! You can’t just run off that like, you scared me half to death!” the newcomer cried, suddenly kneeling down to embrace the kid like a sentient security blanket—wrapping _Felix_, as he called the little guy, in a veritable cloak of arms. Minho could barely even get a good look at the older guy, yet his lilting voice is a median between relief and good-natured scolding. 

But when the new guy did kneel down, now fully coming into Minho’s field of view, Minho was astounded he didn’t drop his stop sign—because this guy is _gorgeous_. Unlike Felix’s sun kissed skin tone, his flesh is almost alabaster white, and lean muscles flexed with each gentle movement. His hair is a mop of kinky, slightly frizzed out deep brown curls, and Minho had to physically fight the urge to card his fingers through those shining tresses. 

He’s sure his fingers would get hopelessly tangled in said curls, but he fought off the intense desire all the same.

But the man’s _face_—holy _heck_. He looks _sculpted_, he looks virtually inhuman. The newcomer is artfully sloped cheekbones and a jaw-line sharp enough to slice clean through diamonds, a stark dichotomy with his slightly droopy eyes and full-lips that pulled into a radiant grin. He’s rounded corners mingling with sharpened edges, rugged masculinity contrasting with unmistakable tenderness. 

Minho acutely felt his heart begin to race in his chest, throbbing beats that assaulted his brain like a dissonant jackhammer scraping against his skull. Why do his cheeks suddenly feel so hot? Why does his entire body feel like it was enrobed in lava, despite the skimpy weight of his high-visibility vest? 

The stranger’s full, heart-shaped lips pulled into an endeared grin as he fondly looked at the little boy—with tangible love that maybe made Minho’s heart feel like it was unceremoniously shoved into a washing machine that was set to spin cycle. 

“It’s ok Channie, I was safe with him!” Felix announced happily, pointing up at Minho as his already sparkling eyes increased their gilded light tenfold. Minho suddenly felt his cheeks catch fire as the modern day Adonis, or Channie’s, pretty lips made a small “O” shape; seeming to finally realize it wasn’t just the two of them there. His bright eyes then snapped up to Minho, and the crossing guard swears he wasn’t suddenly overcome with the overwhelming urge to smack himself across the face with his stop-sign. 

“O-oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you there!” he spoke quickly, now standing up with Felix’s small hand tightly clasped in his. “Thank you so much for watching ‘Lix! I was talking with his teacher when he must have run off.” He continued, a sheepish smile still present on his lips as he reached up with his free hand to rub at the back of his neck. 

Oh god—oh _no_. This guy, this unfathomably charming and beautiful guy, has _dimples_. Dimples that just appeared at the corners of his lips, greeting Minho and forcing molten heat to pool in his chest. 

Minho could only gulp in response, barely processing the other’s words as he steeled himself to speak _without_ making a complete fool of himself.

“Oh, uh, it’s fine, don’t worry.” He said with the most stable smile he could muster, perhaps a little too proud that he didn’t trip over any of his words—not like he could even get that many words out to begin with.

“I’m Chan by the way, and this is my little brother Felix. I hope he didn’t cause you any trouble.” The other spoke through his dazzling smile, all previous shyness washed away. But then Chan pointedly looked down at his brother, a perfectly sculpted eyebrow cocked in question. His pink lips pulled into a knowing, firm line; as if he’s had to go over this same spiel six times today already. 

While Minho was glad to finally have the boy’s real name, he is now in quite the difficult situation. Because now he has to choose between lying and saying Felix was a _perfectly_ behaved little angel—so as not to ruin his chances with Chan by seemingly accusing his brother of rudeness in the first degree, _and then_ option two; the proposition of ratting the tiny boy out for his onslaught of disrespect—which may or may not have offended Minho just a little too much to be coming from a child. 

But as he dazedly looked at Chan, that glowing smile still firmly stretching his lips, Minho swallowed his pride and decided that a little white lie never really hurt anyone. Plus, Felix wasn’t that bad. But maybe Minho is just starting to think that because of said boy’s older brother. 

“He was great, no worries.” Minho finally declared through a tight-lipped grin and equally strained eye smile, valiantly trying not to grit his teeth as he spoke. Chan’s smile grew at Minho’s answer, a proud light coming to twinkle in his impossibly warm eyes—almost as if he expected Minho to say the little boy did in fact cause him trouble. Relief lit up his face as looked down at the boy at his side, bending down to wrap an affectionate arm around the boy’s diminutive waist before rising back up again. 

But before Chan could reply he was cut off by Felix’s little fist adamantly pulling at the hem of his denim jacket. “Yes ‘Lix, what is it?” Chan asked the boy, bending back down slightly to get closer to his brother.

Felix only blankly looked back between Minho and Chan at first, his hand still clutching the bottom of Chan’s jacket, before breaking out into another joyful smile. 

“Blueberry ice cream and chocolate ice cream!” Felix yelled excitedly, pointing at Minho’s head of navy blue locks, and then to Chan’s head of unruly brown curls. Minho couldn’t help the genuine smile from pulling at his lips, Chan instantly mimicking the expression as he laughed, ruffling the little boy’s fluffy hair in turn—well, more like ruffling the boy’s kitty-eared hat, but the sentiment was the same. 

Speaking of ice cream, Minho’s heart may or may not have melted like some at Chan’s melodic laugh. But he tried not to let his rapidly growing rapture for the boy show—at least not any more than his rosy flush and the uncharacteristic goofy smile upturning his usually perpetually scowling lips gave away. 

“Well, we should probably get going,” Chan announced after a few minutes of silence; a comfortable, lighthearted air still floating around the trio. Minho didn’t want to admit to the pang of despair that echoed behind his ribs in the wake of the inevitable statement. 

“We’ll see you tomorrow Minho, bye!” Chan called with yet another blinding smile, waving simultaneously with Felix as the pair turned and started to meander down the street, Felix’s hand clasped in Chan’s once again. 

“Bye Nemo hyung!” Felix shouted over his shoulder with a wave of his chubby little hand, as his small form waddled alongside his brother’s impressive stature. 

In a very off-brand move for him, Minho couldn’t find it in himself to be mad. In fact, _Nemo hyung_ doesn’t have too bad of a ring to it, now that he thinks about it. 

Minho could only bark out a barely audible “B-bye!” as he watched the pairs’ retreating figures get smaller and smaller, until Felix’s garish pikachu backpack became nothing more than a bobbing yellow dot in the distance. 

Chan’s words didn’t stop ringing in his head like a scratched record, broken beyond repair and replaying in and endless loop. _See you tomorrow_. 

Today is only Wednesday. Minho will not only see Chan tomorrow, but for another day after that, and then _hopefully_ every day for the rest of the school year. And maybe, if he's lucky, for the rest of his _life_. 

And as Minho held out his stop sign to let the last few kids of the day cross the street, a feeling bubbled up in his chest so powerfully he couldn’t stop himself from smiling. 

Maybe, just _maybe_, Minho’s job isn’t that bad anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> Minho: i almost threw hands with a 6 year old 
> 
> Hello, thank u for reading! This is a rewrite of a bts fic I posted in 2015, and sadly after all these years im rlly not happy with how i changed this lol....rlly not satisfied w this at all tbh :( i do love babie felix tho he is so smoll and cute :(
> 
> Anyways i wanna write more babie!skz causing chaos for the older boys sooo if there’s demand lol perhaps ill do that....?? Idk! Life is a mystery! 
> 
> Kudos/comments mean the whole world to me and are my motivation as a writer!


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